


dedicated to new lovers

by Anthusiasm (HalfwayDecentFanfiction)



Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Banter, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Neglectful Parents, long distance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26805643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfwayDecentFanfiction/pseuds/Anthusiasm
Summary: Eleanor knows it's a bad idea to call Simone. But when has that ever stopped her?Takes place near the end of Season 3 Episode 6.
Relationships: Simone Garnett/Eleanor Shellstrop
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20
Collections: Comfortween 2020





	dedicated to new lovers

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Comforting someone who’s denying that anything is wrong.

Motel rooms in Nevada were a lot like motel rooms everywhere: just awful. Eleanor knew this from extensive experience. The sheets were so stained they looked like an abstract painting, the paint was peeling like a week-old manicure, and she found a book called _The New Gambler’s Bible_ in the drawer of her nightstand. Normally, Eleanor felt strangely comfortable in places like this. The surroundings, gross as they were, seemed like they fit her better than a nice hotel would. But tonight, after everything that had happened, she didn't want to stay in this neglected, unloved place. 

The rest of the Soul Squad wouldn’t land in the States until the next morning, and Michael had his own room, so she had nothing to do but scroll through Twitter and try not to think about her mother. Or Chidi. Or her exhausting conversation with Michael about free will. 

Somehow, though, Khloe Kardashian’s latest fling with whatshisface from Stranger Things wasn’t doing it for her today. She swiped left, then right, then left again on her phone, looking for an app that would distract her, until she impulsively opened the contacts app and hit “call” on a familiar number.

Simone picked up on the first ring.

“Hey,” said Eleanor.

“What’s wrong?” said Simone.

“What? Nothing’s wrong,” said Eleanor.

“You haven’t been answering my texts,” said Simone. “You’re trying way too hard to sound casual. You called me at, oh, 2 AM my time—luckily, I was pulling an all-nighter to finish this grant proposal. And I know what your voice sounds like when you’re upset. We’re friends, remember? Or we were."

“Sorry,” Eleanor said half-heartedly. “I’ve been busy.”

“Busy with what?” said Simone.

“I really shouldn’t have called.”

“Why not?” said Simone. “Because I can always tell when you're upset?”

“I’m not upset!” said Eleanor.

“Uh-huh,” said Simone. “Then tell me what you’ve been doing.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing?” said Eleanor. “Tell me about your neutronscience breakthroughs.”

“It’s neuroscience,” said Simone. “If you’re really not upset, tell me what’s going on with you.”

“I’m just kicking it in Nevada,” said Eleanor.

“So where are you now? A bar? Oh, don't tell me you're in a casino.”

“A motel room,” said Eleanor.

“ Yikes. Do I need to come rescue you?” said Simone, her voice light, teasing.

Eleanor had a sudden vision of Simone, hair radiating around her head like a halo, bursting into the motel room and sweeping her off her feet. She quickly squashed it down. “I told you, nothing’s wrong!” Eleanor snapped, and immediately regretted it. There was silence on the other line.

“I’m sorry,” said Eleanor. “You still there?”

“Now I’m wondering if I really do need to come rescue you,” said Simone.

“No!” said Eleanor. If she saw Chidi again, it could be a disaster. “Look, I’m fine. I just saw my mom again.”

“Your dead mom?” said Simone. “Do you need to come back for another study?”

“She faked her own death,” said Eleanor. 

“Ouch,” said Simone.

“Yeah,” said Eleanor. “She ran off to Nevada and got married. To a man with a daughter. And since then she's been running a pretty successful campaign for Mother of the Year.” She laughed awkwardly, hoping to offset her acidic tone.

“Oh,” said Simone.

“So, no big deal,” said Eleanor. “I’m fine. I just had a weird day.”

“Bullshit,” Simone said cheerfully. “You’re lying to me because you’re afraid of your feelings. You do this all the time. You’re miserable right now.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes, then, realizing Simone couldn’t see her over the phone, said, “I’m rolling my eyes right now because you’re wrong.”

“If it helps, I’d probably be avoiding my feelings, too, if this happened to me,” said Simone. “Because this is insane. I mean, who fakes their own death?”

“People who bid $30,000 on a date with Gene Simmons while drunk,” said Eleanor.

“Man, your life is insane,” said Simone.

Eleanor let out a harsh bark of laughter. “You’re telling me.”

“Anyway, it makes sense to feel a lot of complicated emotions about this,” said Simone. “At a guess, you’re feeling…betrayed, angry, guilty that you feel angry, weirdly proud of her for turning her life around, and a lot of other stuff.”

Eleanor sighed. “We made up,” she said.

“But you’re still angry,” said Simone.

“Yes,” Eleanor said. “And what kind of person does that make me? I'll give you a hint—it rhymes with 'shirtbag'.”

“Guess what,” said Simone. “As a professor of neuroscience, I officially grant you permission to be angry right now. Of course you’re angry! Some other little girl got the childhood you never had!”

“I mean, I wouldn’t have turned my life around for me, either,” said Eleanor. “I was a nightmare.”

“Stop that,” said Simone. “No child is such a nightmare that they deserve an emotionally neglectful alcoholic for a mother.”

Eleanor swallowed. “Maybe,” she said.

“Not maybe. Yes. Professor of neuroscience, remember?” said Simone. “As much as I hate to play that card.”

“Simone, you play that card constantly,” said Eleanor. “You play that card to get the last cupcake during ethics lessons.”

“Yeah, but I split it with you,” said Simone. “Because you had such a hard childhood.”

Eleanor giggled.

“Ha! Made you laugh,” said Simone.

Eleanor smiled. She hated to admit it, but she was starting to feel better.

“You have every right to be angry,” said Simone. “Your mother is a different person now, but she still hurt you. You can forgive her and still recognize that.”

Eleanor swallowed. Her throat felt tight all of a sudden. “Thanks,” she said.

“Anytime,” said Simone. Eleanor sighed and wished she had let Simone fly to Nevada to see her, that she could see Simone’s bright smile in person, bury her face in Simone’s mass of hair. Let Simone rescue her.

“Hey,” said Eleanor. “I know you and Chidi were…but did you ever think about what it would’ve been like if you and me had started dating instead?”

“Oh, all the time,” said Simone.

Eleanor blinked. “Really?”

“Eleanor,” said Simone. “You’re fantastic. The two of us…it could’ve been great.”

“Fantastic, huh?” said Eleanor.

“I know you don’t believe me,” said Simone. “But it’s true.”

“Thanks,” Eleanor said, self-consciously. Which, what was she doing being self-conscious? It was Simone.

“You know,” said Simone, “this isn't a hypothetical. I'm single. You could come back to Australia.”

“Um,” said Eleanor, and part of her wanted to get on a plane to Australia right then. But she knew it wasn’t possible. Not with what she knew. Not with how well Simone could read her. “It would hurt Chidi.”

Simone sighed. “Yeah,” she said. “Maybe someday.”

Eleanor thought about the first time she’d died, young, in the parking lot of a grocery store, without ever meeting Jason or Chidi or Tahani or Simone. She was living on borrowed time—no, stolen time, and some deep-down part of her knew that she wouldn’t have much left. And afterwards…well, she didn’t like to think about that, but she knew it wouldn’t involved going on coffee dates with hot neuroscientists.

“Maybe someday,” she said, sadly.

“But don’t expect me to wait for you,” said Simone. “I’m in demand, you know.”

“I believe it,” said Eleanor, smiling. She looked around the silent motel room—the strangely stiff sheets, the window with a view of the nearly-empty parking lot, the ice-blue tile floor of the bathroom. “Hey,” she added tentatively. “Can you stay on the phone for a while?”

“How long?” said Simone.

“Until I fall asleep?” said Eleanor, suddenly feeling shy. Like Simone said, she was in demand. And she had a grant proposal to work on. 

“Sure,” said Simone. How about I talk you through this grant proposal? That’ll knock you right out.”

Eleanor smiled, settled back onto her bed, and listened to Simone talk about “neurotransmitters” and “synapses” in her bright Australian accent until she fell asleep.


End file.
